Murder in my yard

There’s a murder in my yard right now. About 12 strong. They’re clustered around the bird feeder, having a ball.

Cawing and jumping, flying around and swooping in on each other.

The cats are going nuts in the big window, tails wagging, chittering at the prospect of going out there and getting some action. The fact that they’d likely get their ass handed to them is of no consequence.

Unfortunately, the batteries in the digital camera are dead. Next time I’ll be more prepared, sorry.

I like crows, for some reason.

I suppose a murder of crows is better than a rash of prostitutes, or a stick of proctologists.

Crows are cool. They seem pretty intelligent too.

Once I saw a crow going after the few remaining potato chips in a bag some person had tossed on the ground. The crow made a few efforts to stick his (?) beak in, but couldn’t get at the chips. So he pulled his beak out, hopped around the bag, picked it up by its bottom and shook all the chips out. Then he had a happy feast.

I guess it was one of those “you had to be there” moments. But watching that crow solve that puzzle was strangely evocative. I’ve rarely seen an animal think like that crow did. I doubt if my cats could have solved that problem, and I doubt many dogs would have either.

There are now at least 28 of them. Still charging the batteries on the camera.

Oh fer Og’s sake. This isn’t what I was expecting at all! Tell me you at least shot one of them.
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We saw a crow solve a problem like that in a parking lot, too. What the heck was he eating, now? Something in something, anyway, and he figured it out pretty quick, too. I don’t like a bunch of crows hanging around, though, because they’re too damned noisy.

I don’t see that happening. 'Cuz if you shoot it, you have to eat it (it’s the hunter’s code, you know). And nobody likes eating crow.